


Communists in the funhouse

by LittleSpider



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Menstruation, Whump, hurt fluff, period fic, period whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:09:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3553805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSpider/pseuds/LittleSpider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha has an unwelcome 'guest' and Clint discovers that Natasha is a little more human than he realized.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. кровь

“Nat, you coming?”

Natasha had been stirring her chicken and basil pasta for the last three minutes in an attempt to make it more appetising when she'd heard him.

She looked up and saw Clint stood there. He was wearing his work-out gear.

She didn't much feel like sparring today.

“Nah.” she said, sitting back. “I just ate.”

Clint smirked and stood up straight.

“Oh, I get it. You're scared I'm gonna kick your ass. I get it, Tasha.”

He was baiting her. He always did when she shrugged a work out.

Natasha smirked.

“Barton. I could eat everything in the building and still kick your ass. I just don't feel like it...”

Clint's smirk grew into a self-assured smile, his voice peaked in volume for the benefit of those around him.

“I get it. Treat yourself to dessert, Nat. See you later.”

Natasha stood up, pushing her plate away.

“Alright.” she began, ensuring anyone who had heard him gently rib her for declining now heard her speak. “...you wanna go. Lets go a few rounds.”

Clint turned back to look at her.

“Changed your mind?” he asked.

“I just wanted to make sure that puppy dog ass can back up that big dog bark of yours.”

A few of the nearby agents chuckled.

Clint nodded.

“Oh it can. Can yours?”

“We'll see.”

 

*

 

Clint slid off his jacket to reveal his work out vest as Natasha wound some bandages around her fists. All she had to do was to put him on his ass a few times, her reputation would remain untarnished and he'd be sated.

But boy, did she not feel like it.

She strapped the bandage down and looked over to him.

“You ready?” she asked.

“As I'll ever be. Standard rules. No sucker punches, no groin grabbing, no dirty tactics.”

“Oh, you love my dirty tactics.” she smirked.

He grinned and squared up to her on the centre of the mats.

“Ding ding...” he smirked and immediately dropped to the mats, sweeping his foot under her.

She sighed inwardly and jumped to avoid it, bringing her leg around as she did, knocking him forwards onto the mats.

He scrambled up and drew away, his arms up as she pursued, her own fists up.

“You're still being predictable.” she replied. “You need to snap out of that.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

Clint feigned an attack on her left side and as she guarded he hit her in the right.

She reeled back from the attack, wincing.

“You too.” he retorted. “Focus.”

She swallowed nausea and nodded.

“Right. We playing it like that?”

“I ain't playing. This is for your own good, Red.” he began, guarding again as he walked forwards.

“I'm sure...” she said, pulling back a little. “It feels it.”

Clint couldn't quite put his finger on it but she wasn't bringing her 'A game' today.

“Maybe we should do this another time.” he suggested. “Maybe when you're not so...tired.”

“No. We do this.” she said stubbornly, gesturing for him. “Hit me with what you got.”

Clint had to comply. Going easy on Nat was a mistake he'd made before and got a broken nose out of it.

He made a simple attack, grabbing her wrist.

She pulled it up to guard her, and hit him around the face hard.

She **was** bringing her 'A game' alright, her attacks were as aggressive as ever but it just felt like she was holding back in some way. He leaned forwards and hit her in the solar plexus.

She fell like she'd had her strings cut.

“...y'gotta guard that thing.” he chided, wiping the sweat on his forehead with his bandaged knuckles. “They hit that they—Nat?”

She was rolled up in a ball hugging her stomach.

“Nat??”

He dropped to the mats and pushed back her hair that was over her face.

She was breathing deeply. He'd winded her.

“Jeez, I'm sorry.”

“No...No...” she wheezed. “...its not you.”

He looked around to see if anyone else was watching.

They were alone.

He scooped his arm under her legs and picked her up and when she didn't protest, he worried a little more.

He put her down on the bench and knelt in front of her.

“...are you alright?” he asked, stroking the hair out of her face.

She nodded, swallowed and looked at him.

“...bad day.”

He put his hand on her back.

“...if anyone asks you put me on my ass in the second round and I nearly cried.”

She smirked at him, a little bit pale.

“...you look sick.” he replied, his own smile fading.

“I'll be fine, Clint. Just get me some water.”

He nodded and sprang up from his knelt position to get her a cup of water from the cooler.

Perhaps she was tired. She was probably jet lagged. She had been on a mission to Lima for a week and she had got back a few nights ago.

“...you been sleepin'?” he asked.

There was a heavy thump on the mats behind him and he span around to see Natasha sprawled out on them.

“Nat!”

He ran over with the water and set it down besides her, trying to remember what to do when someone fainted. He knelt next to her legs and shifted them onto his knees trying to pool the blood back towards her head when he noticed something.

A patch of dark red blood from between her...

He blanched but swallowed down his fear as she began to come round again.

“...Tasha...can you hear me?”

She opened her eyes, blinking uncertainly at the ceiling of the room.

“...hmmm?” she asked.

He moved to her head and helped her sit.

“Drink this...” he said softly, guiding the cup to her lips.

He couldn't stop thinking about the blood.

“...do you feel okay?”

“Yeah.”

“...its just...you're bleedin'.”

She touched her head, wondering if she had hit her head.

“...not there.”

Natasha's gaze dropped to exactly where Clint meant.

“...shit. It's my period.”

Clint wasn't a damn debutante. And he wasn't a shrinking violet-or whatever the crappy cliché was, but the blush in his cheek was unwelcome and unexpected.

“I thought you didn't get them...” he said quietly as she took the cup from him.

“Technically, I don't.” she replied coolly, her strength returning in her voice. “...every so often, however, the bowels of hell opens up and Satan himself hosts a houseparty in my uterus.”

Clint sat back on the mats as she sat up on her own steam and looked at him.

“Sorry to be blunt.” she said, not meaning it in the slightest.

“You...its, No. Look. Uhm.” He tried to string his words into a sentence. “I just didn't know what was wrong with you, and now that I know. I kinda feel like a dick for sparrin' with you.”

“Clint. Please, drop the alpha male shit and accept that you didn't know. I thought I could manage it, turns out I couldn't.”

Clint nodded, but still didn't meet her gaze.

“I'm gonna need to borrow your jacket to get out of here because I used my 'sat on a tomato' excuse six months ago.”

Clint sprang up and grabbed his jacket as she slowly got to her feet again.

“...why d'you pass out?” he asked, handing it over.

“Pain.”

“...pain? You mean...you were like...in pain when we were fighting?”

She nodded.

“...like pain enough to make you pass out?”

“Well, it was pretty bad.”

“...how do you—do that?”

“Like we have a choice, Clint...”

She took the jacket and tied it around her waist, discreetly hiding her soiled pants.

“...stay at mine.”

She looked up.

“What?”

“Stay at mine. I...uhm. If you're in so much pain you think you might black out again, you need to stay at mine.”

Natasha smiled a little.

“Clint. I'm a big girl. I can deal with it.”

“So stay over anyway. I can take the couch, we can eat pizza and watch shit TV.”

Natasha sighed and thought about how much self-care she'd get done once the cramps really kicked in.

She'd be lucky to make it past the hall way once they started.

“...whatever. But I pay for the pizza.”

Clint looked relieved.

“C'mon. Lets clock out for the day.”

 


	2. Bloody Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint gets Natasha home but without a clue on how to treat something that seems worse than a cut or burn

Clint helped Natasha to his car in the parking lot and got into the drivers side, driving towards his apartment.

“...so is that why you weren't eatin'?”

“Hm?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Is that why you weren't eatin'? Your...?”

“Yeah. It makes me nauseous.”

Clint realized Pizza wasn't the best idea. In fact, he didn't know how to look after anyone who was, well, menstruating.

His previous girlfriends had never really gone into the whole 'Pads' and 'Tampons' and 'cramps' stuff. He just gathered from the testiness and the lack of 'action' he got for a week on 'Womens stuff' and let them have their secret pastel colored wrappers and their special drugs.

He should have known Natasha wouldn't be so furtive.

Natasha wore her blood like it was a fine fur coat. She was proud of it, and she wanted you to know she had suffered for the right to wear it.

She wouldn't hide her cramps and her aches and her misery like a martyr. She would put it on display proudly.

“...So...what do you eat?”

“Hm?”

“...What do you eat, when you're you know...?”

“When I'm on my period?” she asked pointedly. “...You can say it Clint. Your tongue isn't gonna fall off.”

Clint nodded.

“Period. Right.”

“Right now, not much.” she replied, looking out of the window. “...As soon as the nausea fades, whatever I tend to crave.”

“Crave? Like pregnancy cravings?”

Natasha shrugged.

Clint nodded.

He quickly flicked through every woman in his contacts list on his cell.

Maria...Nope. He was not gonna call his superior and ask her if he should buy pads of tampons, he'd have about 15 seconds to talk his way out of it before a SWAT team booted their way into the apartment.

Bobbi. Nope. Nope. Nope.

Victoria Ha—Nope.

There was nobody in his damn cell he could ask.

God Damn it.

...Wait.

Tony.

He would get to his apartment, settle Natasha down in his bed and call Tony.

“...is your shower working?” she asked suddenly.

Clint nodded.

“Yeah. Had it fixed a week ago. Turned out to be bad limescale, why? You wanna freshen up?”

She nodded.

“...I got some clothes you can wear if you like? They'll like bury ya, but still...”

“I'll take them. I forgot to pack pyjama's into my gym bag.” she joked and rested her head against the window.

Clint decided to drive the rest of the way in silence in case his ignorance threw her off the idea of staying with him altogether.

He didn't want her alone, especially as she'd collapsed.

He pulled up outside his apartment and parked up in the parking lot just a few yards from his building. He got out, jogged around to her side and opened her door.

“You good to walk?”

She nodded, and slowly uncurled from her fetal position slowly before getting out of the car.

He offered his arm.

“Gonna get a shower.” she replied. “Then I might need to curl up on your couch.”

“Hey, whatever. I had nothin' better to do than watch Dog Cops reruns and eat take out anyhow.”

She nodded, her eyes closed and her color a little worse than before.

Clint figured she'd feel nauseous again and decided to avoid the bumpier roads.

Unfortunately, when they got to his apartment she may just have to deal with it. The amount of cracks and lumps in the road were a nightmare.

She was silent for the rest of the journey, her eyes closed.

Clint half wondered if she was asleep or just swallowing down feeling so sick.

He turned into the street that led to his block and she seemed to revive a little.

She sat up awkwardly, her arm wrapped around her stomach and sat up.

“Hey. Just in time.” he replied in a fake genial manner. “...Good news. When I left this mornin', the super was fixin' the elevator.”

She nodded.

“...sounds good.”

Clint didn't know what else to say.

He had never really seen Natasha like this before. He didn't know how to treat Natasha with kid gloves. The last time he had tried she'd swiped at him for treating her with pity and then pushed her dislocated shoulder back into place.

“Look. Uh. When we get in, why don't you grab a shower? Then we can look into food...”

Natasha made a noise of discomfort, and shook her head.

“Okay. Okay. No food.” he nodded, pulling up outside the apartment and sliding into his parking spot. It was remarkably free, perhaps because it as the middle of the day and nobody had made it home yet.

He killed the engine, undid his belt and got out, ready to grab her bag and her arm if she needed it.

He jogged around the front and grabbed her side-door.

“Okay Nat. Home sweet home.”

Natasha lurched to the side and promptly threw up into the gutter. Spattering his shoes with the undigested Pasta salad she had eaten a few hours ago.

Clint winced and looked away, up the street to see the elderly lady who lived in the building opposite cover her mouth in shock.

“Afternoon Mrs. Goldbaum!” he called as Natasha emptied more of her stomach.

The elderly lady hurriedly crossed the street.

He looked down to see Nat, wiping her mouth shakily.

“...Nat, are you okay?”

“...Do I look okay, Barton?” she asked raspily.

“Lets get you indoors. Okay? I got a nice big porcelain toilet you can throw up in...much better than the gutter.”

She spat again and nodded, heaving herself out of the seat and into his arms.

He caught the most of her weight and let her hook her arm around his neck while his other arm went for her bag.

“Okay...that's a good start.”

He kicked the door shut and clicked the alarm on his keyring to lock the door.

She seemed so much more dependant than before, and seemed to be sluggish in her steps. It was so unlike what he was used to from her. And he was so unsure of what he could do.

In all of their missions, when they had had the misfortune to get landed in the medical facility he'd always known what to do. If he was the patient, he had to lay there, make occasional jokes and try not to rip open his stitches.

If she was the patient, it was usually his job to make sure she got there, and try and see through her lies if she was trying to cover how bad it was.

Now? This?

No idea.

He helped her up the steps to the lobby and nodded to the Superintendent who was signing off the electrician's paperwork.

“Good news Barton, elevator's workin' again.”

“Great! Great. Uh. Just to let you know, someone left this huge pavement pizza just out front. Might need a bucket of hot water on it.”

“Damn junkies.” he sighed and went back to his paperwork.

Clint walked Natasha to the elevator and hit his floor key.

“You holdin' up okay?”

She nodded.

“...Need a glass of water.”

“You need a lot of things, Nat. Are you tellin' me there's nothin' I can do? No doctors? Nothin'?”

She shook her head.

“No.”

Clint nodded, stroking his partner's hair out of her face.

“How about I get you a drink, let you collapse in my bed for a few hours. Then we can work on a shower?”

“Drink, Shower, Bed. That order.” she said finally, holding her stomach.

“Alright. You got it.” It was pointless to consider arguing with Natasha when she was hurting.

The doors opened and Clint walked her out into the corridor.

She walked with him, towards the end of the corridor.

“Why do you...have to be...on the top floor...?” she groaned.

“Best view in the city, Nat. You know that.”

He dropped her bag and opened his door, rattling the lock a little to key the key to work and then kicked open the door.

“There we go...”

The apartment was exactly prepared for guests but at least it was better than being alone, he figured.

“Okay...You, head to the bathroom in case the water comes back up. I'll grab you a glass...”

Natasha had already parted company with his side and was already in the bathroom and had locked the door.

“...alright. You...you go do that...” he nodded.

He dropped her bag besides the door and picked up his mail.

Junk. Junk. Junk disguised as credit card. Take out.

He threw them onto the table that was gathering more junk than an empty apartment's doormat and headed to the kitchenette to put on a coffee.

He heard the bathroom door open, heard the bag get scraped in, and the door shut and lock again.

He pulled out his cell and flicked through his contacts until he got to 'Stark'.

He walked to the opposite corner of the apartment, where Natasha wouldn't hear and pressed call.

“Good Afternoon, Agent Barton.”

It was Stark's Robot buddy, Jarvis.

“Hey Jarvis.”

“I'm afraid that Mr. Stark is currently indisposed--”

“Great. I'm not after Mr. Stark. I need to talk to Miss. Potts.”

“Miss. Potts, Agent Barton?”

“Yeah...?”

“Please wait.” Jarvis responded.

A few moments later.

Pepper's voice came on the line. Clear and direct.

“Clint? Did you mean to call me?”

“Yes...actually. I uh...did...” Clint dug his nail into a knot in the wood on the window ledge. “You're the only woman I know who won't give me a slap for askin' what I'm about to ask...”

 

 


End file.
